


“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, bro and damara palemance yesssssssssss, i love bro/dirk palmating it up with damara, like seriously i can n e v e r get enough of it, pls write more of that pale ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 18:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4110943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cailiborn said: Okay, uh BroDirk with 5, 6 or 34,,, or alternatively JakeHal with 36 or 3</p>
<p>i jstu realized i reblogged same writing prompt to the same blog twice f uc  kfu ck  fuC K<br/>---<br/>short nd sweet, based off of an ask that, long story short, asked me to write a drabble based on the line "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" so yeah. here it is lmao.</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

It’s been, what, almost a decade since you met her. She was the almost massively tall Latina girl majoring in foreign studies, about six feet and residing just below your own height of Fucking Huge. The thing that first drew you to her was the uniform you’d seen in her side of the dorm closet you both shared– something straight out of a shitty high school anime, all part of it just varying shades of red and maroon, from the tie to the skirt to the threads. It was absolutely magnificent, and it’s beautiful stitching was probably the reason that, when she came back singing a lewd rendition of Pon Pon Wei, she caught you holding it up to your bulky frame in admittance of how it would look on you.

She stared, you stared, both of your expressions unreadable. For a second, the dorm is quiet besides naught but the swish of her skirt where he’s pressed up, still on it’s hanger, against your waist. You were obviously the first to move, pulling both blouse and skirt away from your body and down to drop with your arms by your sides, awkwardly dangling as she impassively blew a bubble with her gum. It popped, seconds later and loudly, before she spoke. “>”

You grinned, and thus began your four year friendship.

It was long and it was fun, the two of you growing surprisingly close for two completely different people, though you both knew it was probably your shared weebdom that brought you both closer together. You would relax together in one bed with a laptop warming up one of each of your thighs as a shitty anime (or, on some very rare occasions, a good one) played across the LED screen and drew your bodies closer together, shoulders pressed and heads tipped to rest all up in each other’s platonic grill. That was another thing; almost everyone on campus assumed that the two weebs dorming together just had to be dating, or at least stickin’ it to each other on weekends, but nope. You were into dudes and she wasn’t into you, so it remained the closest of platonic relationships built upon shitty animes and amazing Japanese candies.

But, when college ended, so did you and Damara’s friendship. You were never quite sure how it ended, something about a hurried miscommunication when you switched your pesterChum from an old shitty OC’s pester to your current one – trepidatiousTrial –, and like that she was gone. Her handsewn anime cosplays were gone, her candies were gone, the sound of her muttering along to the theme song of Sailor Moon gone with wherever the fuck she ended up in life. And, of course, you didn’t forget about her – you can’t really forget about your best friend of four years –, but she faded to the back of your mind as you grew from Ambrose to Bro, smuppeteer extraordinaire, billionaire, and strifing expert.

This was around the time you met Dirk Lalonde. A young man, a lot like yourself (which probably played into why you enjoyed his company so much); with the same shades and same spiked hair, caught making knockoff smuppets that were. Surprisingly good. You two began to talk and before long you found yourself staring up at his ceiling after a night of drinks and fearsome romping together, and you were… surprisingly content with that. The last person you’d seriously dated was your anthropology professor when you were back in college, and Dirk seemed like a much better choice. So you two began to casually date, and then became boyfriends, and all was nice and sweet.

And then, on October 25, you bump into someone on the street. Wait, no– bump insinuates something simple and calm instead of kind of totally body slamming some poor motherfucker on the street and sending their papers flying everywhere. “Shit-!” You stumble and twist, attempting to snatch papers out of the air (which is a pointless idea, since there’s no wind and they’ll just float right back down to the ground) and instead managing to trip over your own ankles and fall straight down on your nice and toned rump. You hear another curse spew out somewhere across from you, and as your lips part to apologize, you realize what was weird about the harsh but feminine voice’s curse wasn’t actually in English. You pause for a second as your nose scrunches up in slight surprise, before you actually look up at the woman fisting her fingers within different sheets of paper, and your eyes go wide.

“Damara?” You ask slowly, recognizing the blood red uniform near immediately as her long strands of hair drag across the concrete ground while she scrambles for her papers. However, given that your voice is rather memorable and her papers are all but caught (there’s one under your left palm, a list of several different words in several languages even you don’t understand [which also makes you question if they’re real]), her fingers freeze in their mission and her deep brown eyes flicker up to look straight into your blown wide, orange eyes. She stares again, you stare again, and you both grin. “>”

Within mere moments you two seeing each other for the first time since college (which had to be no doubt), it seemed as if you’d fallen into the exact same rhythm that you had in college. She becomes an increasingly more and more prevalent presence in your apartment, even daring to come over while she knows Dirk is there to get down with his amazing boyfriend. And, while of course you don’t just shove Dirk aside in favor of snuggling up with Damara at early morning hours to watch Black Butler(with the Lalonde wrapping himself all up against your stomach), you’re admittedly a little over enthusiastic to hang out with her.

Though, as you say goodbye to the Megido after a session in which you went to the movies and threw popcorn at the backs of people’s heads when they talked (including each other), you can tell this might not be the best thing when you see Dirk wrapped up around Cal’s squishy form. A frown creases your lips as you flash over to the younger Lalonde, a hand gently tipping his head up to kiss Dirk softly in a greeting as you take a seat on the well worn couch next to him. “Dude,” You start off as he slumps over against your chest, “you look sad as shit. Like, not even sad. Some kind of negative depressive emotion, Bromeo. What’s up, Lalonde?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, just staring passive aggressively at the TV till you sigh in exasperation – he’s younger than you and goddamn does that make everything more difficult than you anticipated – and flick the back of his head. A quick, loud grunt escapes his lips as he quickly sits up, smacking your shoulder in rapid return and then flinching for the slap-war to attack, but he doesn’t receive one. No, instead you just slip your arms around his waist and pull Dirk into your lap, hardly caring if Cal’s discarded in favor of Dirk pressing against your firm torso as he settles. 

“Alright, now that you’re nice and snuggled up to the biggest, baddest teddy bear in town, you have to spill your beans about whatever the fuck’s botherin’ you so that I can kick it’s ass.”   
“I doubt you can kick this thing’s ass, Leonardo DiCapribro.” Dirk offers you back while your arms find themselves around your waist, his tone as dry and as cutting as ever with the freshest undertone of annoyance that makes you scoff at his response. “Fuck that, Dirk. We both know I can kick most problem’s in the ass, man.”

Here Dirk pauses and wrinkles his nose back (which is a habit that you like to think he’s taken from you), thinking for a few seconds before he expels a breath and twists around to face you with a firm gaze and set back shoulders. Your brow raises. “Shit, look’s like someone’s got a big thing on their mind. But hey, I guess I was the one who told you to spill those beans, and I expect to see ones of every kind. Black eyed, jelly, just straight up black, cannellini–”  
“Did you date Damara?”

Ah, memories. Right then’s a great motherfucking time to punch you straight in the cock with those and make your eyebrows shoot up higher than shittily painted on ones by a teenager who’d accidentally shaved or burned off their brows at his question, the one that obviously reminds you of all the different fuckin’ times that people harassed you and your fellow weeb for being a little platonic PDA-ish in public. For a few seconds, you just stare, but you’re not tuned out too much to not see Dirk’s expression tighter or feel his nails press into the back of your neck just slightly. Why the fuck would he care–

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous? Of like, the time me ‘nd her are spending together?” Oh my god. Oh my god. It’s understandable, given that you’re not one to openly discuss your sexuality and he could potentially think that you and her might’ve had a thing, while neither of you ever did. At the near amusement in your tone, however, Dirk finds much less joy and he scowls, those beautiful thick eyebrows slam-dunking themselves down upon his bright eyes and making you quickly shake your head. “No, dude, I never dated her. Like, ever.” You soothe, bringing a hand up to smooth over his left brow softly before leaning in to give his wide nose a soft kiss. “I don’t like girls, bro, and even if I did she’s definitely all platonic. I love you, you fuckin’ dumbass, and no one else.”

The relief that floods just briefly across his face makes you grin, and you just have to lean in to kiss him. “Good,” He mutters against your mouth as the kiss gets shifted a little towards something you’d never do with Damara, “you’re all mine.”


End file.
